


The Space Between (me to you)

by LadySlytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Ambiguously Happy Ending, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Derek Hale, Deter Week 2020, DeterWeek2020, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, Manipulative Peter Hale, Resurrected Peter Hale, Sorry Not Sorry, Top Peter Hale, Uncle/Nephew Incest, opportunistic sexual manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/pseuds/LadySlytherin
Summary: Three things can not be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth. In the wake of Peter's resurrection, certain truths are finally revealed.Love is giving someone the power to destroy you, but trusting them not to.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Peter Hale
Comments: 20
Kudos: 190
Collections: DeterWeek





	The Space Between (me to you)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it’s been a while since I watched S2 of Teen Wolf, but some quick research gave me a brief overview of Episode 11, _Battlefield._ Derek and Peter come face-to-face for the first time since Peter’s resurrection, Peter is snarky and pisses Derek off, and Derek tosses him into a staircase. And then there’s a time-jump and we see Peter getting his ass kicked by Derek - again? Still? Who knows - as Peter tries to talk his way back into Derek’s trust. When Derek finally _stops_ kicking Peter’s ass, they move on to dealing with the whole kanima-Gerard-situation as a somewhat reluctant unit. So I’m setting the first part of this in the midst of that whole mess, and I apologize if anything contradicts the canon. Then the story will jump to _after_ the S2 finale. 
> 
> As ever, comments are love; pretty please leave me some down below. ❤️
> 
> ~ Sly

Derek listened to Peter’s drawling snark, anguish warring with fury.

“It’s quite a situation you’ve got yourself in here, Derek. I mean, I’m out of commission for a few weeks and you’ve got lizard people, geriatric psychopaths, and you’re cooking up werewolves out of every self-esteem-deprived adolescent.”

It wasn’t funny. Or it shouldn’t have been, anyway. But the part of Derek that had always loved Peter best - that had loved his uncle more than he should have - wanted to laugh. Because Derek had always gotten a kick out of Peter’s sense of humor. Peter’s sassy comebacks and snarky attitude had infuriated everyone in their family. Everyone, that is, except for Derek. But Peter had killed Laura. Peter had killed a _lot_ of people, actually. This wasn’t _his_ Peter; not anymore. Derek knew that, if only because of the distance between them. It was more than physical, and it made something in Derek’s chest _ache._ Because maybe Peter hadn't ever _really_ been his - not the way Derek wanted him to be - but they had, at the very least, been closer than mere family; mere pack. Peter had once been _everything_ to Derek.

And that was gone now, along with so much else.

The grief of it was so searing that, when Peter’s hand came down on his shoulder, Derek just _reacted._ He threw Peter across the room, into the staircase. And dammit, even _that_ hurt. It hurt because, once upon a time, Derek would _never_ have hurt Peter. Not only because Peter had always been stronger than him, but because Derek couldn't have fathomed causing Peter pain. Those days were gone now, and Derek couldn't help hating Peter for it, just a little.

As fury washed over him like a tide - blood red and hungry for more - Derek kept kicking Peter’s ass. He honestly wasn’t sure how long it went on for, he just knew that Peter wasn’t really fighting back. And that only served to make Derek angrier. Because the Peter he knew would never have taken a beating this way; the Peter Derek had loved would have fought back using any means necessary.

_This was not his Peter._

Nothing could hurt more than the repeated affirmation of that fact.

When he finally stopped - when Peter was studying his own bruised face and lamenting his slowed healing in the wake of his resurrection - Derek was exhausted. He felt hollowed out inside; empty and aching in the worst way. Derek felt like his heart had been burned out of his chest; turned to ash like everything else in his life. _Gone._ He listened numbly as Peter offered to let Derek keep hitting him, if that was what it would take to make Derek trust him again. The offer sounded sincere, and Derek wanted to _howl_ at the injustice of it all.

He wondered how they’d reached this point. The point where Peter’s face and body bore the marks of Derek’s rage. The point where Peter honestly believed that Derek _wanted_ to hurt him. The point where that was maybe - at least a little bit - true. It wasn’t fair.

_None of this was fair._

Resigned, Derek found himself agreeing to whatever Peter had planned. He wasn’t sure he actually believed that Peter was willing to be his beta. He also wasn’t sure he believed his uncle no longer wanted to be an alpha. But he knew that if things got ugly and he found himself dead at Peter’s hands, it would be no less than he deserved...

...for more reasons than one.

~*~*~*~

The whole mess with Gerard and Jackson and Scott should really have been taking up most of the space in Derek’s brain. Because Jackson was a werewolf, but he was also a kanima, and he was supposed to be Derek’s beta, and that whole mess was going to need to be sorted out. Not to mention, Gerard had somehow crawled off - probably still leaking black goo from various orifices - while everyone was distracted by Jackson’s latest transformation, which was inherently problematic for several reasons. And then there was _Scott._ Scott, who was Derek’s beta but who also _wasn’t,_ because Scott had betrayed him in the worst sort of way, and the worst part of that was, Scott’s plan hadn't even worked out properly - as evidenced by the now-missing Gerard - and _Deaton_ had betrayed Derek, too.

And Derek was really going to have to do something about all of these people stabbing him in the back before one of those knives managed to draw blood.

Except that was a worry for another day, apparently, because Derek couldn't focus on any of it. The only thing he could think about - the only thing bouncing around inside his skull as he let himself into the derelict ruins of his family’s former house - was that Peter’s eyes had glowed blue.

_Blue._

It wasn’t something Derek had expected. Despite knowing about the blood on Peter’s hands, he’d never anticipated them glowing any color but gold. Peter’s eyes had _always_ been gold. And of course they’d been red before Peter’s death, but that was different. _Alpha eyes_ were something else entirely, and after the initial shock at seeing them in Peter’s face it had almost seemed _right._ But blue was different. Blue meant _remorse,_ and that didn’t fit with what Derek knew of this Peter.

It fit with _his_ Peter - the Peter who had once been his best friend, and who he’d wanted so much more from, before he’d realized it wasn’t meant to be - but Derek had long since accepted that that version of Peter was dead; burned to ash with the rest of Derek’s family. This new Peter didn’t seem like the sort to feel things like guilt, or regret, or remorse. Except the blue color didn’t lie - _couldn't_ lie, really - and it was throwing Derek for a loop.

Lost in his thoughts, Derek wandered up the ominously creaking stairs and into the most-intact of the bedrooms. Moonlight filtered through both the windows and a hole in the ceiling on one side of the room, while the mattress and its tangle of blankets and pillows was shadowed under the part of the roof that _hadn't_ been devoured by flame. Still caught up in his musings, Derek toed off his shoes and kicked them towards the bottom of the makeshift bed. His filthy t-shirt was stripped off and tossed towards the small pile of dirty laundry, then he undid the fly on his jeans, the black denim barely clinging to his hips as he turned towards the bed.

He froze, breath catching in the back of his throat, at the sight of glowing blue eyes.

Peter was in the middle of the mattress, an expression Derek didn’t understand - and was afraid to analyze - twisting his handsome face. The second Derek met Peter’s eyes, the look melted into careful blankness as the glow disappeared and Peter drawled. “Don’t let me stop you, nephew. Please, continue with your nighttime routine.”

He gestured vaguely towards Derek’s pants, no doubt referencing the fact that Derek had been about to strip them off before climbing into bed. Derek’s cheeks flushed and his ears burned; Peter had always known how to embarrass him, doing so with quiet amusement at every opportunity, and apparently that hadn't changed. Unlike other things. Unlike _Peter._

Well that was fine. That was just fucking _perfect,_ because Peter wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Derek had, too. Refusing to let Peter make him feel like a child - or worse, like the foolish teenager he’d been the last time he’d really _known_ Peter - Derek met that piercing blue gaze levely and shoved his jeans off. Then he walked towards the mattress and sat down. A second later he laid back, sprawling himself diagonally across the bedding, his hip mere inches from where Peter was kneeling. Derek folded his hands behind his head and met Peter’s eyes again, refusing to show any weakness. He wasn’t ashamed of his body, after all, and nudity was something he’d long since grown accustomed to, considering both his mother and twin sister could full-shift into wolves.

He stubbornly refused to let himself think about the fact that while nudity had been commonplace and casual in his family, things had always been a little more complicated where Peter was concerned. For Derek, at least, if not for Peter.

Except that Peter’s eyes tracking over his body were so intense, Derek could practically feel the gaze like a physical caress. Struggling to put that thought out of his mind - Peter had never wanted him the way he wanted Peter; Derek had been forced to accept the truth of that years ago - the alpha said softly. “Your eyes are blue.”

“My eyes have always been blue.” Peter replied flatly, but his gaze had lifted to Derek’s face at least so Derek was counting it as a win. “I blame genetics.”

“I mean your _other_ eyes.” Because Derek wasn’t dancing around this, and he wasn’t letting Peter’s evasive non-answer stand. “They’re blue now.”

There was a pause, then Peter looked away, eyes going to the moonlight dappling the far side of the room as he murmured. “So they are.”

Derek licked his lips, nervous and uncertain but _needing_ answers. Needing _this_ answer. Because if there was any small shred of _his_ Peter left, he had to know. “Why?”

Peter’s eyes snapped back to his, a fierce scowl on his face. “You can really ask me that? After everything that’s happened, and with as well as you know me?”

“I don’t know you.” Derek said, voice a little hoarse; the words coming out choked and tight around the lump in his throat. Hurt flashed across Peter’s face, but Derek held firm. “I _don’t._ I did, once. Or I thought I did, anyway. I don’t anymore. You’re...you’re not the same.”

“Aren’t I?” Peter asked, weariness lacing the words. “A bit older. A bit worse for wear. But I’m still _me,_ Derek. I’m still the same person I was back then. Your confidant; your best friend.”

 _‘And never more.’_ Derek thought bitterly, heartbreak lancing through him, fresh as always. Unsure he could hide the pain, Derek looked away and asked again. “Why are they blue, Peter?”

“Because of Laura.” Peter snapped back. “I was angry, Derek. I was angry, and cast adrift, and more than half-mad. I was _feral._ If I’d been even the littlest bit in control, I would _never_ have hurt her. She was my niece. I loved her.”

“Like you love me?” Derek asked.

He wasn’t sure where the words came from; wasn’t sure whether courage or madness had allowed them to slip out after so long. He had never dared give voice to his own feelings before. Had never dared put his silent hopes and dreams into words; too certain of being rejected to risk the truth of it all. But he couldn't take them back once they’d been said and - if he was being honest - he didn’t even want to. All he could do was wait for an answer.

Peter looked startled, and there was a long stretch of silence that seemed heavy with tension; fraught with apprehension and anticipation for whatever might come next. The air around them seemed to hold every moment Derek had built his love for Peter on. Every longing glance. Every touch that seemed overly familiar; that extended just a bit too long past _appropriate._ Every moment that had ever given Derek _hope,_ despite all the other moments that dashed it again.

When he finally spoke, Peter’s voice was low and somber; more serious than Derek had ever heard it. “No, Derek. Not like I love you. Never like that. But I _did_ love her, as pack and as family. And I’m sorrier than I can say for what happened.”

“If you loved Laura like pack and family...” Derek whispered the words, knowing he was poised on the edge of a cliff he’d walked along a thousand times before...and also knowing he was finally ready to take that step into open air, even if he wasn’t sure _why._ “Then how did you love me?”

“Derek...” Peter murmured, something that looked painfully like regret twisting his mouth. “What’s the point in asking me that? What good will come of it?”

“I need to know.” Derek said, and it was true in a way he hadn't fully realized until he spoke the words. “I can’t live with the uncertainty anymore. I can’t...I need you to say it. And I need to understand why you never said it before, when it might have actually mattered.”

 _‘When it might have changed things.’_ Derek left those words unspoken, but they echoed loudly in his own head anyway. He wondered if Peter heard them, too.

Peter looked away again, but nodded. Only once, quick and terse, but it was enough. “Very well. If this is my penance, so be it.” He took a breath that shook, just a bit, then said flatly. “I wanted you. From the moment Talia first placed you in my arms, when you were mere minutes old, something in me said that you were _mine._ It was a fierce and possessive thing, snarling away inside of me, long before I was old enough to fully understand what it meant. I hid it as best I could, some instinct telling me my sister would never approve, but the older I got - the older _you_ got - the harder it became.”

Peter laughed, cold and bitter. “And I was correct, of course. Talia was _furious_ when she realized what you were to me. _My_ _mate._ She forbade it, and sent me away to college. And wouldn’t you know it, I came back on break to find that you had decided some human girl was _your_ mate.” He shot Derek an abashed, apologetic look, adding. “I never meant for her to be hurt. I was jealous, I admit, but I would never have wished that pain on you. I’m sorry for that as well.”

Derek sat up, tears burning the backs of his eyes, and said brokenly. “Paige wasn’t my mate. A-and neither was Kate.” He pushed the words out, admitting to things he’d never imagined giving voice to. “It was you, Peter. It was _always_ you. But I didn’t...I didn’t know. That you felt the same way. I thought...when you left, I mean, I...I thought...it _felt_ like you were abandoning me. I was hurting _so much_ and I j-just wanted it to _s-stop,_ I- _”_

And suddenly Peter’s hands were cupping his face, firm but gentle. And then Peter’s mouth was pressed against his own, hard and fierce and fueled by every second they had spent apart, for one reason or another. It was years in the making, intense and overwhelming. A sob broke free from Derek’s chest and the tears spilled over, but he didn’t care. He _couldn't_ care, because Peter’s lips were parting and that clever, wicked tongue was licking its way into Derek’s mouth at long last, and nothing had ever tasted as sweet. _Nothing._

“I’m sorry, darling.” Peter murmured between kisses, lips brushing tenderly over Derek’s tear-damp cheeks before coming back to his mouth, again and again. “I’m _so_ sorry. If I’d known you felt it too...I never would have left you...never would have let her send me away...”

Derek’s hands came up, clutching at the back of Peter’s v-neck tee as he whimpered before sucking on his uncle’s tongue. With his new alpha strength, he pulled Peter along with him as he let himself fall back to the mattress. The older man put up no resistance, eagerly following Derek down. In the wake of Derek’s unspoken encouragement, Peter once again devoured his mouth, lips and tongue and teeth staking claim on Derek’s own with a need that bordered on madness. Derek sank into it willingly. He let Peter take whatever he wanted and, when the kiss finally broke, Derek offered even more.

He met Peter’s eyes, then tipped his head back, baring his throat with a plaintive whine; he offered beseeching supplication and absolute submission in the most blatant way he knew how.

Peter growled, low and rumbling, before leaning in and nuzzling at Derek’s throat. Another whine spilled past Derek’s lips, then Peter’s mouth closed over Derek’s pulse-point, sucking a livid bruise into the skin despite knowing it would heal almost instantly. But then, that wasn’t the point. It didn’t matter how fast the mark faded, or that no one else would ever see it. It only mattered that Peter had made it. And more, that Derek had _allowed_ it to be made.

 _“Mine.”_ Peter rumbled, dark and dangerous. “You’re _mine,_ Derek. You have _always_ been mine.” He sucked another fast-fading bruise on Derek’s throat, growling all the while, so low it was very nearly subvocal.

“Y-yours.” Derek panted, writhing as his uncle’s hands stroked over his chest and down his belly with a possessive surety that set Derek’s pulse skittering into overdrive. “Only yours, Peter.”

Peter drew back enough to meet his eyes as his hand curled around Derek’s cock, grip firm and perfect in a way that had Derek keening for more. “Swear it.” Peter murmured as his thumb swiped over the head, spreading the gathered slick down the length. “Promise me, love.”

“I promise.” Derek panted, meaning it with every fiber of his being. Whatever Peter wanted of him, Derek would give. Anything - _everything_ \- if it meant he could have this, even just this once. “Your mate. I’m _your_ mate, now and always.”

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead down to rest on Derek’s shoulder for just a moment as he shuddered, visibly overcome. His hand never stopped stroking Derek, though, and when he finally lifted his head he praised softly. “Perfect, Derek. You’re _perfect.”_

Derek’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, but Peter tsked softly, crooning. “No, no. None of that, sweetheart. You’ve always been perfect for me. It’s one of the things I love best about you. You give whatever is asked of you, without protest or hesitation.”

Peter leaned in, licking a hot, wet line up the front of Derek’s throat, ending with a soft kiss to Derek’s mouth before he said. “You’re perfect so long as you’re _mine._ Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Derek gasped, nodding frantically.

That seemed to be enough for Peter, who smiled wickedly and purred. “I seem to remember that, as a teen, you enjoyed getting off with your own fingers buried inside you. Do you still?”

Derek squeezed his eyes shut as he nodded again, small this time but still perceptible. He was mortified, but unwilling to lie, though he also elected not to mention that he sometimes used toys, rather than just his fingers. He was embarrassed enough without offering that bit of information. Except Peter rumbled soothingly at him, and murmured. “Good. That’s a good thing, darling. I want you to enjoy being fucked, after all. Where’s your lube?”

A glowing warmth filled Derek’s chest at the faint praise, and his cock twitched at the implied promise in Peter’s words. Derek wanted that; _had_ wanted that, for as much of his life as he’d understood what two men did together. Peter, inside of him. He twisted beneath the other man, one hand burrowing through the twisted mess of blankets and pillows near the top of the mattress until his fingers closed around the tube he’d left there.

He passed it to Peter eagerly and the older man hummed as he took it. “Nearly empty, isn’t it? Let’s hope there’s enough to get the job done, then.”

“S-sorry.” Derek stuttered, feeling like he was a teenager again; uncertain and inexperienced and unintelligent.

It was the way he’d _always_ felt around Peter while growing up; Peter, who had been suave and clever and so sure of himself. Though Derek would admit, his uncle had never made him feel _inferior._ If anything, Peter had always made certain to praise Derek; to point out all of the things Derek did right. He had always been Derek’s staunchest defender, too. He remembered the day his own eyes had glowed blue for the first time, and the way his mother had told him he was still beautiful...and how it hadn't felt true until Peter had told him the same. He didn’t mind feeling unsure around Peter, honestly. He liked knowing the older man was in control.

Because, despite everything that had happened, Derek still trusted Peter to take care of him. And that made it easy to give in; to _submit._

“Don’t apologize.” Peter chided, the quiet _snick_ of the lid sounding obscenely loud in the still-and-silent of the room; the _house._ “I like knowing you’ve been fucking yourself open regularly.” Straight white teeth flashed in the moonlight as Peter grinned down at him. “Did you think of me, sweetheart? Did you imagine it was my fingers opening you up? My cock?”

Derek knew Peter would hear any lie he might tell, but that was alright because he didn’t _need_ to lie; not about this. “Yes.” He whispered, licking his lips as he watched Peter squeeze the last of the lube into his palm. “Every time. It’s always been you, Peter.”

Then, feeling almost desperate, he added. “D-don’t prep me.”

Peter paused, as he’d been about to coat his fingers in the lube. “What was that, sweetling?”

“Don’t prep me.” Derek repeated, voice a little hoarse and unsteady but determined to say this. “I w-want to feel you. Want to know it’s _real._ I can take it. _P-please...”_

His plea turned into a whine at the end, but Derek had no pride. Not now; not with Peter. He wanted Peter and it seemed absurd to pretend otherwise. Determined now, Derek sat up and reached for the fly of Peter’s slacks, hastily undoing them with trembling fingers. Peter let him, groaning softly as Derek’s hurried motions placed the faintest pressure on his erection. Derek didn’t tease; didn’t draw things out. That wasn’t what he wanted. He got the fly open, then hooked his fingers under the waistband - of both the slacks _and_ Peter’s underwear - and tugged them down until they bunched around Peter’s kness, trapped there by the way the beta was kneeling on the mattress.

Derek’s breath hitched in his throat as he got his first proper look at Peter, fully grown and aroused. Peter was long, and thick, and _perfect._ Derek whined again, high and needy, and Peter shushed him softly as he brought his lube-slick hand to his own erection and coated it.

“Settle, Derek. I’ll take care of you.” Peter murmured, his breath catching a little as he slicked his cock as quickly as possible. He met Derek’s eyes and added. “Lay back, love. Spread your legs and draw up your knees for me.”

Derek obeyed, without hesitation, and Peter praised him softly. “There’s a good boy, sweetling. My perfect, _perfect_ mate...” Peter shifted until he was leaning over Derek, settled neatly between the alpha’s trembling thighs.

Firm, hot pressure against his ass let Derek know Peter’s cock was in place, then Peter locked eyes with Derek as he asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Derek breathed, because he was; he’d never been more sure of anything in his life. He wanted this; wanted _Peter,_ no matter what it might cost him in the end. “Please, Peter.”

And then Peter’s hips pushed forward, his cock sliding inside. Derek groaned, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut at the faint burning stretch. Peter entered him slowly; in increments; by degrees. It was a slow, insidious press that seemed to stretch on for eternity, until Derek was panting and keening with every breath as he wondered how the hell Peter was still getting deeper inside of him. He was sure he’d never felt so full in his life. Was sure that, for all of the times he’d used his fingers or toys on himself, nothing had ever been close to stretching him as much as Peter’s cock was. And he knew it wasn’t true. He knew it was just that he was hyper-focused and overly sensitive because of the build up; because of _how much_ he wanted this. But it was still overwhelming.

Tears beaded on his lashes and his breath came out as a sob, even as Peter’s lips skimmed along his jaw, voice like liquid silk as he crooned. “Shhh...you’re alright, sweetling...taking me _so well..._ so good, Derek, so perfect...”

Derek sank into the praise, feeling warm and safe as Peter drew back his hips and thrust back in. This time, it wasn’t slow. It was hard, and fast, and Derek cried out as Peter’s cock grazed his prostate. His claws dug into the bedding beneath him, fabric rending loudly under the pressure, and Peter laughed in delight as he thrust again. As Peter drove his cock into Derek over and over, pleasure coiled low and tight in Derek’s belly. He felt it building with every thrust; felt himself rising with every swell, knowing that it wouldn’t take much before he was cresting that peak and crashing down the other side. And Derek wanted it; reached for it with greedy, grasping fingers. His hips rose to meet every thrust, sobbing pleas for more spilling constantly from his lips.

And when he spilled between their bellies, hot and sticky-wet, Derek did so with a broken, sobbing sort of cry that melted into an almost-pained _howl_ as Peter redoubled his thrusting, chasing his own pleasure now that Derek had found his.

As Derek’s whole body trembled with aftershocks, his mind hazy and soft as his muscles went heavy with fatigue, Peter nuzzled at his jaw, panting heavily. He nudged Derek’s head further back and Derek went with the push, baring his throat completely. There was a pause - the barest moment wherein Derek felt Peter seem to hesitate - and then Peter’s mouth was on his throat. No, not his mouth.

_His fangs._

Peter’s jaw was stretched wide, and the blade-sharp press of his fangs settled against the front of Derek’s bared throat. Derek couldn't _breathe_ for a long moment, fear whiting out his brain and making his whole body go utterly still. Peter’s mouth was perfectly poised to rip out Derek’s throat; to end his life and steal the alpha spark back from him. Derek’s heart stuttered, then righted its own rhythm, beating steadily against the inside of his ribs. Derek knew he could throw Peter off of him, though if he could do so before Peter’s teeth ended his life was debatable. If he _could,_ then the ensuing fight wouldn’t be much of one; it would take almost no effort to end Peter’s life, after all.

Derek considered it, for the barest flash of an instant.

Then Peter’s hips twitched, grinding his cock deeper into the hot, tight clutch of Derek’s body, and all of the tension bled out of him as he moaned. He arched up, canting his hips to take every inch of Peter’s cock while his throat extended beneath the press of Peter’s fangs. If this was how he was to die - simultaneously impaled on both Peter’s cock and his fangs - then Derek was okay with that. If there was ever a perfect way to die, this would be it. Because he loved Peter - he always had, and he always would - and he had betrayed that love with Kate, resulting in the loss of so much, for both of them. If this was his penance - if this was the moment, and the way, in which Peter took his pound of flesh - then Derek would offer no resistance.

All he had to offer in apology was this; was _himself._ Derek had thought, when Peter first kissed him, that it felt like forgiveness. Like redemption. Like _salvation._ If penance and absolution came in the same breath as those, then so be it.

Only Peter didn’t bite. Instead, he growled, hips driving forward hard and fast, before stilling deep inside of Derek as he spilled himself there.

Derek closed his eyes as Peter’s fangs left his throat, the older man collapsing down on top of him, rumbling contentedly in Derek’s ear. Derek grunted a little at the sudden weight, feeling tired and wrung out in a way he hadn't expected. Since becoming an alpha, he didn’t really get tired anymore; not in this bone-deep way, at least. Derek savored it a bit, arms coming up around Peter’s waist as he rubbed his cheek against Peter’s hair, scenting him. He wasn’t sure what had happened at the end there - if it had been some sort of test on Peter’s part or what - but Derek honestly didn’t care.

He knew now that he could trust Peter. He could have killed Derek, but he hadn't. He didn’t, because he _loved_ Derek. Nothing else mattered.

“I missed you.” He whispered at last, when their heartbeats had slowed a little and their breathing was a bit easier. “Every single day, I missed you.”

“I know you did.” Peter murmured back, his cheek pressed against Derek’s shoulder as he added. “Go to sleep, sweetling. Morning will come soon enough.”

Feeling as close to at-peace as he had in a very long time, Derek closed his eyes and let himself drift off, knowing Peter was with him. It was the safest he’d felt since before the fire.

~*~*~*~

The sound of gravel crunching under tires had Derek startling awake, claws tipping his fingers and his eyes burning brightly as he sat bolt-upright.

Peter’s hand carded through his hair a moment later. “Relax. It’s merely Stiles, no doubt making the rounds to ensure everyone is still alive and well after Gerard’s disappearance last night.”

Peter’s hand fisted lightly in his hair and Derek let Peter drag his head back, looking up at where his uncle was standing beside the mattress. Peter’s lips curved into a smirk and he murmured. “I’ve missed those pretty blue eyes of yours, sweetling. It’s nice to see them again.”

Confusion swept over Derek for half a heartbeat’s time, then Peter’s eyes began to glow.

_Red._

Eyes widening, Derek thought back to the night before. To the way he had submitted to Peter’s every whim. To the feel of Peter’s fangs against his throat.

“You...” He rasped, pain searing through him as he realized Peter had betrayed him; had used Derek’s heart against him, just like Kate had.

“Shhh...” Peter crooned, cupping Derek’s face in his hands. Peter leaned down, brushing the tenderest kiss imaginable over his lips, and Derek felt lost; confused and uncertain. “Don’t fret, sweetling. I didn't plan this, but sometimes things simply work out. We both know you never wanted to be an alpha. It’s better this way.”

Derek nodded, Peter's words soothing the ache in his heart; he knew Peter was right. Then he whined softly as Peter kissed him again, still soft and sweet but lingering a little more before he drew back and said. “Get dressed while I go reassure Stiles that all is well.”

“He won’t believe you.” Derek murmured, his whole head feeling like it was filled with static; a backdrop of white noise he couldn't quite think around.

“Then you should dress _quickly,_ wouldn’t you agree?” Peter kissed him again, rolling his eyes when Stiles’ voice cut through the morning air as he called out for Derek. He sighed, then added. “Also, we’re going to talk about proper living conditions when we’re done dealing with Stiles. Understood?”

Derek nodded numbly and Peter crossed to the empty doorway that led to the upstairs hall. He paused there for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder to add softly. “I love you, Derek. Remember what you promised me.”

Peter left, calling out a cheerful - if slightly sarcastic - greeting to Stiles as he went downstairs.

Derek sat for a moment, mind moving sluggishly until he recalled the promise Peter was talking about.

 _“Yours. Only yours, Peter.”_

That was what Derek had said to his uncle, caught up in having Peter - having the one person he’d always wanted - handed to him on a silver platter, seemingly with no strings attached.

_“Swear it.” Peter had demanded. “Promise me, love.”_

And Derek had, hadn’t he? Without hesitation. 

_“I promise. Your mate. I’m_ your _mate, now and always.”_

Hearing Stiles’ voice rising with temper, Derek hurried off the bed, pulling on the first pair of jeans he found. As he headed for the doorway, Derek realized there was nothing to decide. There was no choice to make, because he’d made it the night before. Derek loved Peter beyond words - beyond _reason_ \- and he wanted, more than anything, to be with him. Everything else was just unimportant details.

Derek was Peter’s mate; he always had been. And Peter was Derek’s alpha...

....now and always.

_**~ The End ~** _

**Author's Note:**

> I know the ending is a bit hazy on how things will go from there, hence the _ambiguously happy ending_ tag, but suffice to say that everything works itself out. Peter takes care of the pack, making a good alpha now that he's sane. He also spoils Derek, showering him in all the affection and love he couldn't before the fire.
> 
> Derek much prefers being a beta rather than an alpha, and his marshmallow-nature serves to balance the sharp edges Peter sometimes has. Peter still works very hard to apologize for the opportunistic way he took the alpha spark. Derek forgave him almost immediately, but he doesn't tell Peter that since he doesn't want his uncle to think it's acceptable to manipulate him. He makes Peter work for the forgiveness.
> 
> Stiles - who elects to stay human - nevertheless winds up as Peter's second-in-command. Derek has his hands full sometimes, dealing with the two of them - as neither shies away from things like torture or murder when circumstances call for it - but he gets pretty good at talking them both down.
> 
> Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed the story. ^_^
> 
> ~ Sly


End file.
